


Lost and Found

by galactic_burst



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Human AU, M/M, screams i hope yall enjoy this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactic_burst/pseuds/galactic_burst
Summary: A lost city boy makes his way into the wrong state and deep into the countryside. Little does he know that this is one of the most important journeys in his life.
Relationships: Austria/Norway (Hetalia)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my very first official fanfiction. I hope you guys enjoy this! I'm both open to feedback/critique and anything, really. This is a Human AU that takes place around/near the Pacific Northwest in the United States. Considering the fact that they're humans, I've also done small things such as change up Austria's eye color from violet to brown. 
> 
> Human Names Used
> 
> Roderich Edelstein - Austria
> 
> Without further ado, here's chapter 1! Hopefully expect weekly updates.

The trip to Portland feels a lot longer than he expected. A lone driver swears, with his narrowed stare and tight grip on his steering wheel, that he followed the right directions. As he meanders down a lonely stretch of freeway, Washington State’s lush forests and mountains thin out into unfamiliar stretches of bland farmland. He really should pull over and check his phone soon, shouldn’t he? 

Oh. Right. Like a fool, he let his phone die. The cheap portable charger he ordered off of Amazon, after assuming its worth based on decent reviews, hasn’t been working. What’s that, the battery only crept up from 1% to 10% in the past hour? Not enough to turn on his GPS. How strong would his signal even be?

The driver, who often prides himself on maintaining a strong image outside private affairs, meanders a good ten miles below the speed limit. High-strung and cranky, he clings to his wheel until his knuckles reach an uncomfortably milky white. Prominent wrinkles dig into the base of his forehead as he furrows his brows. His palms have been caked in cold sweat since a rude passerby nearly hit his little black car. He never enjoyed driving. 

Roderich Edelstein, only having lived in Seattle for a couple years and equipped with a sad sense of direction, tries to navigate his way to witness an extravagant orchestra performance slated for the next day. As someone with a love for fine music (and some guilty pleasure songs), he’d hate to miss this. 

That’s exactly when Roderich misses the large blue sign on the side of the road that reads _Welcome to Idaho_. 

Roderich snaps out of his tunnel vision for once in his goddamn life to take a gander at the unfamiliar landscape. More fields, hills in the distance... Hey. When did the sky look so warm? _Well_ , he thinks to himself as he eyes a tacky billboard for a McDonalds 5 miles off, _this can’t be good_. Grateful that there’s signs of civilization (albeit not enough for his own standards), Roderich drives off the nearest exit toward McDonalds’ general direction. Naturally, he ignores that the restaurant itself exists. What a sad sense of coffee they have. He doesn’t expect much from the town ahead, but maybe there’s a drug store where he can buy a new charger. 

_MULLAN: 1 Mile_

The setting sun paints the sky a rosy pink, and thin, purple clouds dot around it. The road shrinks to two lanes, and Roderich finds himself flanked by abundant potato fields on both sides. The occasional silo crops up from behind the rolling hills. Up ahead, an old water tower looms over a thick cluster of reddening trees and small buildings. The McDonalds hangs out at the very edge of town, its drive-thru jam-packed with rusty pick-up trucks and the occasional smaller car. He scoffs. The golden arches flicker every three seconds, gently glowing over the full parking lot. If the McDonalds is booming, what else does this town have to offer? Roderich loves to fret over little details as a habit, but his growing concerns and anxieties overtake his mind. That’s it. He should ask somebody around here…

Before he could possibly give up and settle for a cheap dinner at McDonalds and an awkward conversation with a farmer, Roderich slows down and decides to drive around town. Knowing his sense of direction, is that even a good idea? At this point, he’s beyond caring. He’s equipped to stay overnight someplace, but he expected that to be at a hotel in downtown Portland. God knows where he is now. 

_WELCOME TO MULLAN: Population: 4,420_

Sweeping his dark brown eyes across his surroundings, he spots an Albertson’s grocery store, some other necessities like a bank, a gas station with reasonable prices… Roderich carefully drives further into town, where he eventually finds himself on a one-way street lined by cute little bungalows. A kid playing in one of the front yards stares almost intrusively, noticing the unfamiliar vehicle and its Washington license plates. Her mom steps outside to call her back inside, but also finds herself watching. Not enjoying this attention, Roderich lightly speeds up. After driving through a tiny strip of downtown businesses, he arrives at the other end of town, which is lit up by the local Walgreens. _Thank God._

An obnoxious SUV honks aggressively behind him. “Ack!!” Spooked easily, Roderich swerves into the nearest gravelly driveway and slams on the breaks. All he hears is the gravel and dust his car flicks up as his tires dig into the ground. Ugh, a future trip to the car wash. He’s not shaking, but his eyes look as wide as saucers. _Gross_ , he thinks with pursed lips, finally taking the time to examine the sweaty glisten in his palms. 

As the SUV speeds past, Roderich takes a deep breath. A sign quickly catches his attention. 

_Thomassen’s Bed and Breakfast_

Faintly illuminated by his headlights, he notices the wooden sign is cleanly painted. It’s rather cute, he has to admit. Cute for a town like this. 

Just as he’s about to pull out of the driveway for the Walgreens, the sound of a passing lawn mower catches his sensitive ears. Nosy as he is, he takes a look. 

Next to him stands a tall young man, curiously staring straight at him. Roderich can’t make out all of the details as the sky darkens, but there’s a distinct, almost vacant quality to his eyes. They almost look dead, even. Feeling awkward, Roderich tries to leave until noises from the mower’s motor shuts off and he sees the lad gesturing to lower his window. He’d usually use this opportunity to peel out and abruptly drive off, but he doesn’t sense anything threatening from him. Reluctantly rolling down his window, he parts his lips. The stranger has the first word.  
  
“Ah, you one of our guests?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	2. Found?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roderich's accidental short visit to Thomassen's Bed and Breakfast turns into an unplanned overnight stay.

Stuck in Mullan, Idaho and eye-to-eye with a stranger, Roderich isn’t sure what to think right now. One thing’s straight, though: he’s cranky. Before he’s able to call the other out on staring, the young man asks him a simple question. 

“Ah, you one of our guests?” 

“No! I-” Roderich exclaims abruptly, struggling for the right words. He’s grumpy, but he’s in unfamiliar territory and possibly at the mercy of this guy. “I’m not too sure where I am,”

Roderich claims, sounding notably softer than before. “My phone has a low battery and all I know is that I’m in Mullan… I’m still in Washington, aren’t I? You see, I’m headed to Portland, however-” 

The mysterious employee slips his fingers off the mower handles and almost silently approaches. Even the sound of crunching gravel’s notably quiet with this guy. What is he, floating? Before Roderich even has a chance to come up with some sort of ridiculous assumption, he for once in his life clams up. The man before him gingerly arrives at the side of his car with a calm, almost timid air to him. As to not loom over him, he has to bend his knees and squat in front of the window. Roderich swears he’s at least 6 feet tall. 

With the last trickles of daylight, Roderich notices a head of soft, subtly wavy blonde hair with an odd curl sticking out at the end of the strands. His bangs are long and partially pinned back by a cross-shaped clip, but the unpinned side of his fringe almost covers one of his alluring, dark blue eyes. It’s almost intimidating how he can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he’s nonetheless mesmerized by his aloof, yet very present gaze. Present, but sleepy-looking. It’s mean-spirited of Roderich, but he genuinely didn’t expect someone working off of a rural bed and breakfast to smell this good. He picks up hints of some sort of pine-- whatever it is, it’s nice. Okay, maybe this guy is cute. He hasn’t annoyed him outside of his already-present grouchiness, so… 

“Portland?” The stranger asks with a wispy, almost soothing voice. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to avoid bursting Roderich’s bubble. “We’re nowhere near Portland. You’re in Idaho.” 

“Oh.” Idaho… Portland, Oregon is _south_ of Washington, and Idaho is--

_Oh no._

Embarrassed, Roderich wants to back up and zip out of this dead-looking town. All he can do, however, is awkwardly look at the silhouette of a nearby farmhouse. Ah. That’s the B&B, isn’t it? He swears he hears faint moos off in the distance. At least cows are cute… 

Adjusting his glasses as a nervous habit, Roderich says, “Well… Maybe I should get going. My event is tomorrow, and--” 

“Wanna charge your phone here?” 

“Oh um, sure,” he accepts before even realizing. 

“Drive further up. There’s a space in front of the house,” the worker gestures. “... I’ll be up there soon if you need anything.” 

“Yes-- um,” so many um’s today, huh? “Okay.” Reluctantly, Roderich pulls up in front of the bed and breakfast before finally turning off his engine. He feels troubled, tired, and hungry at this point. He needs a second to roll up his window, rest in his car, fetch his regular charger, and wander up to the porch. 

An apathetic-looking teenager sits at one of the vast white porch’s many rocking chairs, his face lit by his phone screen. He has to be no older than 18 or 19. With slightly messy hair that’s almost white, one look at his face and Roderich swears he and the other staff member are related. Those eyes-- they look more lively than the other’s and they’re blue… Right? It’s hard to tell at this point. 

“Oh, uh-” Roderich starts, that sense of awkwardness hitting him once more like the plague. Just as he’s saying something, he steps right on top of a particularly creaky board. What a _stabby_ sound. He doesn’t like that. They should fix that! Roderich’s hearing-- it’s sensitive. In fact, it’s safe to say his sense of taste, touch, hearing, sight, smell-- all of it almost feels _heightened_. He finds it to be either a gift or a curse.  
  
Without even looking away from the screen, the teenager points to the door as if it’s a routine. “Just head to the front. Dinner’s almost ready. Are you a guest?”

“I’m just here to charge my phone,” answers Roderich, straightening himself up. Despite this attempt at looking prim and prepared, his fingers fidget with his dying phone at his side. “So-”

“-- Or there’s outlets on the porch if you wanna get cold.” The kid’s notably wearing a thin grey coat and a patterned scarf. It almost looks homemade. Now that Roderich thinks about it, he can very well handle a cold breeze, having grown up where he has. But would he prefer a heated home or being out in the brisk air?

Heated home it is. While this guy’s somewhat irritating him from the way he answers, Roderich doesn’t have it in him to say something about it. His tired, weary self makes his way to the front and taps on the door with a few quiet knocks. The scent of food pipes through the cracks and he has to hope his stomach doesn’t growl out loud in front of the kid on the porch. Well. Not like he’d care. Does he even care about anything? 

After the general scent of food washes over, Roderich almost immediately picks up a distinct smell. He scrunches his nose. Oh. _Fish_. Roderich grimaces to himself right as an older woman opens the door. She’s roughly a couple inches under Roderich’s height, with a similarly wavy blonde head of hair to the others. It’s neatly trimmed in a fresh pixie cut, and it’s hard to tell her exact age. Honestly, she’s looking good for how old she is. Like the first guy’s eyes, she bears a similar dark blue, just with more of a spark. Ah. It must be a family-run business. “Hello, hello!” She greets in a chipper tone, a pleasant accent ringing through each word. Roderich places it as distinctly Scandinavian. Her cheerful expression falls as she notices his initial expression: wrinkled and disappointed. “Oh, is something the matter?”

Roderich mutters without thought, “I never liked fish.” How pleasant. What a first impression. 

“That’s fine! We do have some salad. Are you here to book a guest room? We happen to have one available! Do come in,” she gestures inside, “Just slip your shoes off by the door. You look really tired.”

Roderich feels conflicted. 1) He said that thought out loud, although he’s not even sure how much he regrets it. 2) What if he does have to stay here and he just screwed himself over? All he can manage is “Oh-- thank you. I was invited in to charge my phone.” 

“ _Please_. Call me Ingrid. Are you sure you want to drive back out?” She gestures to the darkening sky out the door. The sun barely pokes behind the trees at this point, and faint traces of constellations stretch overhead. The moon glows up top in a waxing crescent. 

Roderich follows where she’s pointing and purses his lips. Well… He never enjoys driving at night, plus he still doesn’t even know where he is on the map. “Honestly, no. No I don’t,” he admits. In surrender, he hesitantly asks, “What is the rate for one night?” 

“Well,” The oven dings. “I should get that, the fish is ready! You’ve come just in time,” she smiles playfully, “Enjoy your salad and potato slices! What should I call you?” 

“Roderich, please. I guess I’ll go get my stuff from my car.”

“I see! Feel free to visit the dining room in five minutes.” 

“Okay?” Before Roderich can ask anything else, Ingrid hurries back to the kitchen. 

“Let’s talk soon, city boy!” How does she know? Well, one look at Roderich and maybe it’s obvious… The way he dresses, how out of place and how grumpy he looks. He looks down at himself to check, but turns at his heel for his suitcase. 

* * *

Roderich dips in his room just long enough to weakly toss his suitcase on top of his bed through the door. Realizing he’s never even been to a bed and breakfast, he asks himself, _Wait, must I eat with everyone else?_ Great! He’s not even in the mood to talk to anyone. All he wants to do at this point is nap his anger away, channel his frustration into a composition he’s working on (one thing he _did_ notice in the living area is an old brown piano. Hopefully it’s tuned enough), and melt away from the human eye for the evening. But hunger’s his guide, and he shuffles down the stairs and to the dining room. The house is large enough to function as a B&B, but to Roderich’s luck, it’s easy to navigate. On his way there, he nearly bumps into someone by the living room. He pauses and looks-- rather up than just to the side. A familiar set of turbid eyes stare back. 

It’s the cute lawn mower guy, and man… He really _is_ sort of tall, isn’t he? 

The exchange is awkward. There’s a small nod and a quiet “Sorry about that” from him, and a brief “No, it’s my bad” from Roderich. Cue a bit of silence. 

“... Staying for the night too?” He asks after a little hesitance. What’s with him? 

“I guess so. I’m lucky there’s a room available,” shrugs Roderich. “I still don’t know where I am. I only know one name in this place too-- wait, what are you doing?” 

The stranger just pulled out his phone and is scrolling through his apps. How rude! Before Roderich can say anything, he holds his screen up for him to look. It’s a map of the general region they’re in, starting at the edge of Idaho where Mullan lies. The mile scale sits at a corner of the screen. “You’re here,” he says simply, guiding two of his fingers to the screen to start zooming out. As soon as Roderich sees how far he actually is from Portland, watching as the mile scale’s numbers increase rapidly, he pales. 

“Oh…” 

“What time’s your event?” 

“... Noon?”

“Hmm… I don’t know what to tell you. You’d gotta wake up pretty early.” 

“I… I see,” the more this man speaks, the more Roderich dies inside, sweet voice or not. He parts his lips as if to say something. When doesn’t Rod have something to say, honestly? Actually, now. He stares down to his shoes, thoroughly speechless at the sheer size of his blunder. 

“Ah, weren’t you asking for more names?” The worker asks after a moment. “Mine’s-” 

A crisp _ring!_ echoes across the house. “Dinner!” Ingrid calls out. 

“I’ll tell you later. C’mon,” says the stranger, leading Roderich into the dining area. 

The first thing Roderich sees at the heart of the long, dark brown dining table is an enormous fish eye. Unnerved, Roderich tries to glance away but he just can’t. Well… Ingrid at least didn’t lie about the salad and potato slices. The brightness of the room starts to bug him. It almost hurts as one of the light bulbs flicker. More people file inside and incessant chatter bounces off the walls and straight up his ears. He can hardly drown it out. Everything feels like so much, yet it isn’t and he doesn’t even have the energy to grow cranky and-

“Hey… Are you okay?” The employee asks softly, eyeing Roderich’s glazed expression. It’s enough to snap Roderich back in reality, but not enough to drain out all the stimulation. 

“... Could I ask to have my dinner up in my room?” Roderich requests, his tone mixed and difficult to read. He reaches over for an empty glass plate, only to nearly drop it as Ingrid pops up by his side. “ _Please_ ,” he adds. If something goes wrong, he could very easily snap like a twig.

“You good, Roderich?”

“No,” he almost has to hold his temple.

Lawn mower man leans down to mutter something to Ingrid in a foreign language. What’s that… Norwegian? Swedish? She blinks a couple of times, mouths an “ _oh_ ,” and nods. She carefully leans toward Roderich. “It’s fine if you need to head upstairs. If you plan to serve yourself, just be sure to bring your plate down by tomorrow, yeah?”

Roderich nods, confining himself to a small pile of salad, a few potato slices, and a very-much-needed glass of water. It feels like everything’s a blur at this point, and he swears he hears Ingrid call the man he met by name. However, he can’t remember what it is. 

* * *

Roderich’s bed back in Seattle is a little too firm for his liking. There’s something about this bed in particular, which he sits down on, that’s almost nostalgic. All he can think about are his lush blankets, pillows, and sinkable mattress from his childhood home. 

_Home._

Oh, how he misses Vienna. Seattle just isn’t the same. 

He idly watches the still oak ceiling fan. He’s never liked the look of oak. It hardly matches with anything! However, his phone charges on the nightstand, he’s eating (the meal itself is simple but frankly scrumptious), and he’s survived overstimulation. The most he can ask for after such a day is a cozy bed and privacy. He’s by no means in a good mood, but calm. 

The room itself is rather plain, but homey. A red and white patterned rug stretches across the wooden floorboards and there’s a still life painted in a distinct, almost expressive style. Roderich assumes it’s from a local artist. He also notices a couple crystal rocks lined up against the windowsill and an evil eye hanging on the wall. A subtly superstitious bed and breakfast, huh? Otherwise, there’s nothing particularly remarkable about his guest room other than those artifacts and its strangely comforting atmosphere. Maybe the rocks and evil eye really do work, yeah? Probably not. He’s a skeptic. 

After finishing off his plate and taking a long shower, Roderich falls into a dreamless sleep. All he knows is that there’s a long drive back to Seattle tomorrow. There’s no way he’d make it to Portland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in this chapter, we meet both Nor and Ice! I'll list human names once they become part of the plot. Ingrid is technically an OC and stands in as their mother. She doesn't represent any place in particular, I just needed a mother figure. I've also done the same for their father, whom you'll meet in future chapters! :)


	3. A Late Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bonding over brunch!

Roderich really did need his rest. Only the harsh noon sun awakens him, sunbeams sharply glistening through the windows. Roderich was so tired last night, that he forgot to draw the curtains. Now, he lies there, eating up the consequences. 

Sleeping until noon after an early night’s still a feat in itself, though. 

Roderich squints in discomfort and turns over only to cringe. The pillow is damp under his cheek. “Gross.” Seriously... was he so out of it that he drooled in his sleep last night? He shoots up and peels away at his long, messy bangs in front of his eyes and looks around. Right. Idaho. He almost feels stranded in bed, muttering in annoyance underneath his breath in German. Then he sees the time on his phone. Welp, the orchestra recital he was meant to attend just started! Great. “For the love of god,” he groans. He almost wants to head back to sleep, but someone knocks. Well, he can’t be seen like this, can he?  
  
“Are you awake? Lunch is almost ready,” calls out Ingrid from the other side of the door. Roderich almost swears he hears her wink in her next words. “Rest assured, seafood is still optional.” 

“-- Okay,” Roderich says, “I won’t be down for… awhile, but thank you.” At least she considered his preferences. Anyway, it shouldn’t be a surprise that Roderich takes ages to get ready and maintain his appearance. He has an extra outfit outside the suit he planned to wear to the recital, which should suffice for now. Thank god for his bad habit of packing too much. 

* * *

Roderich steps back into the dining room with a clear mind, a neat button-down underneath a faded purple sweater, and some cuffed grey slacks ~~because he’s bisexual lmao~~. If one looks closely, they’d still notice the annoyance on his face from the slight wrinkle pressed between his eyebrows. All he can do however, is eat lunch, pay for his stay, buy a new charger, and make that irritating drive home. He’ll be sure his phone doesn’t die on him while in GPS mode this time. 

It looks like the food’s mostly been cleared out, but an open-faced sandwich lined with some deli meat, cheese, and cucumbers awaits him near the end of the table with some side salad and an untouched glass of water. In neat cursive, there’s a sticky note nearby that reads _For Roderich_. How considerate. As sort of a bonus, the lightbulb is no longer flickering. Realizing he won’t be bothered, he makes a small huff of approval and sits right down. Ingrid works in the kitchen next door, currently occupied with scrubbing dishes. This includes Roderich’s from last night, which were recently added to the sink. 

About to take his first bite into his sandwich, Roderich feels a lingering presence and looks up, immediately shutting his mouth. From the doorway, stands the mysterious lawn mower man. Once they make eye contact, he mutters a quick “Oh, my bad…” 

“Your bad? For what?” And that’s when Roderich sees the other sandwich plate, reading _For Sigurd_ respectively. Sigurd… He doesn’t know how it’s pronounced, but it sure looks like a cute name. A cute name for a cute guy. “I don’t mind if you eat here… Si-” Roderich says, squinting at the sticky note. 

“ _Sigurd_.” Despite his thorough American accent, it’s clear Sigurd grew up bilingual in his pronunciation. To Roderich, it sounds like “See-Gurd,” although the last syllable is quick with a sort of roll to it. It’s something he knows he can’t pronounce fully, but he’s right. What a cute name… 

As if anticipating Roderich to ask about his name, Sigurd adds, “It’s Norwegian.” Ah, so _that’s_ what they were speaking last night. It sounds vaguely pretty to Roderich’s trained ears. After almost leaning against the wall, Sigurd accepts his invitation and joins him. “... Sometimes we also speak a little Icelandic around the house to mix things up, but not as much. Mom was born there.”  
  
Roderich, wanting to be proper enough, swallows his first bite before he even bothers speaking. The sandwich tastes-- clean. A little bland, but clean. It must be the cucumbers. “So you speak two and a half languages?” He asks, unsure how to explain why it feels somewhat easy to talk to Sigurd. “I only know English and German.” Roderich adds, “ _Austrian_ German.” He didn’t come over to Idaho by accident only to be mistaken as German, goodness!

“My Icelandic’s conversational at a max,” Sigurd loosely shrugs, falling quiet to work at his lunch. Not much of a talker, is he?

Often straight to the point, Roderich isn’t afraid to breach the topic. “I’m certain you’re also not the biggest fan of crowds. I can personally survive gatherings,” Well you didn’t survive last night, Rod, “but I wouldn’t consider myself an extrovert by any means. Goodness. Imagine only ever being energized after so much _talk_.”

“I had a little work around the house, but I can’t say you’re wrong.” 

“Tell me, is this a family-run business?” 

Sigurd tilts his head at the question, but ultimately nods. “Yeah, you met Eiríkur and mom. Dad’s out running errands.” A family of four, how sweet. 

“Can’t say I know what it’s like to have a brother. I’m an only child.”

“I figured.” 

Roderich arches a brow at Sigurd, almost caught off-guard by his own bluntness. Hypocrite. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” He prods for an answer. 

Sigurd gently looks off to the side as if in thought, his sleepy gaze pointed off toward nowhere in particular. “Just had a gut feeling. It’s nothing.” Sure it is, Siggy. He pauses, “... Your name escapes me.” 

“Roderich. I’m not one for nicknames, so Roderich’s fine.” 

“Hmm… I also figured that’d be the case.” There’s a second pause. “The nickname thing.”

“Really now?” Roderich half-squints. It’s like Sigurd’s trying to imply something, but he doesn’t feel any sort of malicious air to him. All he knows is that he’s somewhat shy, hard to read, and cute. Maybe a little weird, but if he wasn’t, that’d be boring. 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Sigurd says, before taking some significantly large slices from his sandwich. Someone’s hungry, hm? 

Roderich is conflicted. On one hand, he’s starting to feel awkward, but on the other hand, he wants to see if Sigurd will talk more. “Well, what else do you read off of me?”

Sigurd stares, mouth shut and cheeks puffed out from food. There’s something endearing about seeing him like this. It’s enough for Roderich to know their conversation is genuine outside of the small talk. Swallowing his food and dabbing his lips with his napkin, Sigurd subtly narrows his eyes. His eye-contact remains steadfast. “You’re from the city, probably Seattle. You also have a cat that you spoil, and you’re very picky about your coffee...” 

Roderich blinks not just once, but twice. What the hell? He opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure out his words. “... A show I grew up with, perhaps?” 

“Star Trek. Poorly dubbed. Must be a closeted fan.” 

Even Star Trek?! That one wasn’t even meant to be obvious! Roderich is fully caught off-guard, subconsciously leaning back in his chair away from Sigurd. How does this practical stranger make such guesses?! Maybe he’s a Trekkie and he could just _tell_ , but. “Oh… Wow,” Roderich replies, stunned. “Are you some sort of psychic?” Not that he really believes in them, but it’d make sense for the house’s supernatural leaning. He swears he’s seen three more rows of crystals and even a small altar with runes in the living area. A rather interesting site for small-town Idaho. Well, that, and a heated tank for a napping bearded dragon not too far off from one of the living room windows. Roderich wonders what its name is. 

“Nah, you’re readable.” 

“Am I,” Roderich slips his phone out of his pocket for a brief moment to check the time. He widens his brown eyes for a second and tsks. “I’m going to have to end breakfast here, I have to get going.” 

Sigurd almost corrects him with “Lunch,” but instead gives an understanding nod. “Long drive back to Seattle, isn’t it?”

“Bah, you witch-thing!”

* * *

At last, Roderich is back in his car after saying his goodbyes, paying Ingrid ~~while hoping she doesn’t mind the drool stain~~ , and packing up his things. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, feeling his chest wind up in dreaded anticipation for the fruitless drive back home. First he’ll buy a portable charger from Walgreens and fill his gas tank, but with his directions on, it should be a smooth sail back home. If he leaves now, he should at least get home before midnight… That’s better than nothing, right? 

Roderich inserts his key and turns it toward ignition.

His car doesn’t start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we know both of the brothers' names!
> 
> Human Names Used - Part 2
> 
> Sigurd Thomassen - Norway
> 
> Eiríkur Thomassen - Iceland (NOTE: They're full brothers in this AU and their father is Norwegian, hence the Norwegian surname! Otherwise, I like using Steinarsson for Iceland c: ) 
> 
> Again, thanks so much for reading. But what happens next is the real question!


	4. Stranded in Idaho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck for longer, Roderich ends up on an impromptu hang-out to get his mind off his car.

“ _No, no, no! Not right now! Don’t do this right now!_ ” Roderich exclaims in sharp German, incessantly jamming his key into ignition. The most his little silver car does is pathetically attempt roaring to life, sputter, and lamely shut back off. An unfamiliar man stares from the porch, having just parked his pick-up truck.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” Roderich begs in his native tongue, but his car refuses to budge. In defeat, he rests his head on the steering wheel, only to abruptly spring straight back up from accidentally honking his car. All he can do at this point is bury his face in his hands and sit there in a mix of shock, upset, and disbelief. Oh well, it _could’ve_ happened on a lone stretch of road…Ugh. 

Pouting into his palms, he doesn’t snap back into reality until he hears a sharp couple of knocks against his window. Slowly glancing up, he sees a middle-aged man with a full blonde beard looking straight at him out of concern. His eyes have that strange, almost purplish blue like Eiríkur’s. Roderich quickly straightens up, adjusts his glasses, and tosses back his hair before meekly jamming the switch to roll down his-- Oh right. The switch can’t even be used right now. Great! 

Roderich opens up his car door a few inches. “Look! I’m in the middle of mourning! Now w-”

“You alright, son?” Another strong Nordic accent. 

He almost shuts him down with a blunt “No,” but stops himself. He doesn’t even have the energy to keep up his sort of attitude… “My car won’t start. I’m hundreds of miles away from home. I was meant to go to Portland,” Roderich stares in upset at cattle grazing in the distance. “... And I ended up _here_. I just wanted to get home before dark, but I-” 

“I can check your car.”

Roderich pauses, suddenly looking up at this stranger, whom he assumes is the father, with hope. “Would you?”

“Give me a second. You’ve had it rough, my wife mentioned that to me earlier.” 

Roderich cringes at his first words uttered to Ingrid last night. He can easily be unashamed of the shit he says, but other times he absolutely agonizes over his most awkward interactions. Ingrid deserves better. He feels bad now. “Sorry,” he utters. 

“Pardon?” 

“Nevermind. You just offered to check my car, right?” Duh, Roderich.

“Exactamundo.” Huh, a little quirky talk. 

“Well… Have at it. I’m grateful.” 

“It’s Håvard. Or Hal.”

* * *

Roderich stands there with his arms either crossed or while wringing his hands. That’s always been a nervous tic of his. Or a happy tic. He’s not too sure how to explain it to most people. All he can do is watch Håvard tinker around the engine, occasionally try and start the vehicle, and make sure the hood remains propped up. 

“Well, son. Your battery died,” Hal concludes. “Need me to wire up your car or pick up a battery?” 

“Didn’t you just come home?”

“There’s a shop that sells batteries beside the Walgreens. It’s no sweat. Do you want me to p-” 

“No! I’ll pay. It’s fine. They’re a lot.” 

“Whatever you say. I’d ask if you wanna join me to the store, but- Sigurd, did you want something?” 

Lo and behold, Sigurd’s been watching from the porch rather curiously. He sits there with a mug of coffee in hand, his stare unreadable as ever. “Ah…” Sigurd shrugs, “Looks like you’re stuck, Roderich.” 

Roderich grimaces. “Thanks for your input.”

“Oh-- I was gonna ask if you wanted to see the cows?” 

“Wait-- Huh?” The musician tilts his head, fully caught off-guard by his request. “The-” he points back at the cattle. There’s a soft moo in the distance. 

Hal chimes back into the conversation, heartily patting the roof of Roderich’s sad car. “Yeah, we have five. Sometimes we sell their milk at the farmer’s market. I don’t see why not. Sig’s usually not this open to guests. Must’ve made an impression on him.” 

“ _Me?_ ” Roderich now directs his pointer finger toward himself.

“You’re pretty out of place here, I guess,” Hal figures, scratching at his beard in thought. “Hmm. You know how to change a car battery, young man?”

Roderich stares at Håvard as if he just spoke Mandarin to him. 

“Guess not. Look. I’ll take care of this, and you pay me back for the battery. How about it?” 

“Okay,” Rod looks down at his feet. How are these folks so nice to him? Is this what Idaho does to people? “... Seriously though, I’m thankful.”

Eventually, Roderich waves at Hal from the distance, who’s starting his pickup truck. Before catching up with Sigurd, Roderich double checks his bank account on his phone-- he has the money thanks to a very impressive amount of savings, but music is not always the most lucrative industry. Oh, if only he could spend this money on a nice restaurant in Portland… At least the B&B is affordable. You know what? Perhaps he _is_ saving. The hotel would’ve been more expensive, chances are his battery still would’ve died, he’d have to pay for a tow truck, and-- 

Tangent aside, Roderich meekly follows Sigurd and disappears into the fields.

* * *

Roderich looks jumpy and uncomfortable, tugging his coat around his frame. There was an ant hill on the way to where they are now, on this dirt trail cutting through the grass from years and years of trekking back and forth. He lingers a couple yards behind Sigurd, unsure what to say to him and annoyed at the soil’s dust collecting on the tops of his shoes. Finally parting his lips to speak, whether to break the ice or complain about the outdoors, he quickly trips over on an above-ground tree root. He yelps loudly and expects to eat dirt several feet behind Sigurd, but-- 

In a fit of fast reflexes, Sigurd spins around and steps over to catch Roderich. Roderich lands against his chest and shoulder, Sigurd’s arms holding him securely. For a brief second, they make eye contact. That brief second almost feels like a minute.

“Yo… You okay?” Sigurd asks quietly, to which Rod nods, almost hypnotically. 

He regains his bearings and slowly pulls away, as lovely as it feels to be held by him. He clears his throat. “I swear, it’s like one of those poorly written romance novels I like to make fun of. What a gimmick. Have you ever read Sandra Hill?” 

“That name sounds familiar. I think there’s a dramatic reading on Youtube. It was something else.” 

Roderich perks up his eyebrows, amused. “Really now?” 

“As far as I know, she really, _really_ likes Vikings.”

“We can’t forget her novels about Cajuns.” 

“Ah… Is she in it for the accents?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. You also forgot,” Roderich points out, dusting himself off. “She’s in it for the accents _and_ abs. Don’t pretend to be cultured if you don’t know that,” he adds sarcastically. 

“I was considering buying an e-book of _The Very Virile Viking_. Must be an experience.”

“Fair enough.”

Roderich and Sigurd carry on their conversation to all sorts of strange tangents, Roderich admittedly appreciating Sigurd’s company as they reach a small cluster of cows huddled by the barbed wire. Sigurd makes a quiet “Oh!” and gestures toward the cows, picking up his speed. Roderich struggles to keep up with him, especially while he’s trying not to dirty his shoes too much. He’s also on the lookout for other roots waiting to trip him up. 

“We’re lucky. All five of ‘em are here… Eventually, there’ll be six,” Sigurd proceeds to point out all five of them, wiping his brow. The breeze picks up his bangs and blows them around, but he doesn’t seem to care. Roderich swears he hears an upped tone in Sigurd’s voice. Subtle, but noticeable. It’s sweet. He’s passionate about his cows.

“We’ve got Leaves. We just call him that cuz he eats the most leaves out of all of them,” Sigurd starts, pointing to a brown-speckled bull basking in the sunlight. 

“That’s-- That’s it? _Leaves_?”

“Got a problem?” 

“No!! _No_ , it’s just-- it’s so straight to the point. It’s cute though.” 

Sigurd stares for a second before going back to his cows. The other bull, mostly black but with a white face, is named Bjørn. According to Sigurd, it means bear in Norwegian. The three cows on the other hand, two black and white spotted and one small with a tan coat, are Betty, Mæja, and Buttercup respectively. Buttercup, the tan cow, lurks closest to the fence. Sigurd holds out his hand and gestures for her to come over.

“I said there’s gonna be six soon,” says Sigurd as Buttercup sniffs his fingers. “That’s cuz Buttercup is pregnant.” 

“Oh-- Well… Calves are cute.” Cows are cute in general, but Roderich stands far from the fence. 

“Wanna pet any of them?” Asks Sigurd. 

“Well, I--” What’s stopping you, Roderich? He thinks for a bit, before _very_ hesitantly approaching Buttercup. He cringes as he watches her ears bat at the flies that keep trying to land on her. He assumed it’d be too chilly for flies to be out, but the day happens to be a little warmer than yesterday. He has his hand out, very conflicted. As soon as Buttercup snorts, Roderich flinches and takes two steps back. “I can watch from here. They’re still cute from a distance.”

“Whatever suits you, I guess. Petting zoos not your thing?”

“The last time I went to a petting zoo was when I was 15. A llama spat on me and I haven’t been the same since,” Roderich says without a beat. He pulls at his coat at the memory.

“Tragic.” 

“Anyway,” Roderich directs his gaze away from Buttercup and Sigurd. It’s back to Leaves. He furrows his brow, seemingly in intense thought. 

“Something up?” Sigurd scratches behind Buttercup’s ears. Buttercup shuts her eyes in content. She’s almost like a large cat.

Roderich doesn’t answer for up to five seconds. He’s contemplative.

Sigurd catches on, only to ask a strange question. 

“Would you say cows are polite?” 

The question catches Roderich well off guard, and all he can do is utter a “-- What? Well, yes… They _are_ polite.”

“What music do you think they’d like?” 

Roderich watches Sigurd curiously before redirecting his attention to the cows. “Hmm… Leaves likes listening to old jingles from 1950s commercials. He likes their catchiness. Bjørn is a metal fan. I can’t fathom what that’s like,” Sigurd makes a noise as Roderich continues answering his question, “But good for him I guess. Betty and Mæja listen to the Bee Gees together. Mæja is more the kind to scope out fake fans and is thoroughly disappointed in Betty for only knowing _Staying Alive_ by heart. Buttercup... “ Roderich trails off, squinting at her. “Classical. Despite the flies, she has rather good taste. I’m certain she likes Grieg.” 

“As she should,” Sigurd chimes in. 

Roderich doesn’t want this moment to end for a awhile, as much as he’s desperate to go home. Enraptured by where the conversation is going, he and Sigurd lose track of time and talk beside the cows for a long while. Eventually, they lean against a thick tree trunk, Sigurd seated and Roderich standing. The sun starts setting as the cows relax in the distance. Roderich abruptly widens his eyes and quickly checks the time.

“Shoot! I was meant to go home today, but it may be too late to leave…” He facepalms gently at himself. “It’s your fault for being a better talk than I expected. I really didn’t think you’d hold a conversation for this long.”

“Honestly,” Sigurd pulls a loose fallen leaf from his hair, “I didn’t either.”

“So… Did you have a reason to bring me here in the first place?” 

In usual Sigurd fashion, he vaguely shrugs and looks up at him. “I dunno. It felt right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sigurd looks off in the distance and the breeze picks up again, tousling his hair. This time, Roderich wants to reach over and brush his bangs out of the way. He pushes away the thought as soon as it comes to focus on the conversation. Sigurd in the meantime answers, “It just does. It’s nice.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! Thanks again for reading :) And here we have Håvard, the dad who tries his best! 
> 
> Edvard Grieg here is our token Norwegian composer, he might appear more in a later chapter or two!


	5. The Piano and Roderich's Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An account on Roderich's last moments at the B&B

At last, Sigurd and Roderich return to check on the car, which stands quaintly parked with the hood shut. Håvard sits on the porch outside to watch the sunset, waving over at the two from one of the rocking chairs. Eiríkur diligently studies in the chair beside him with a purple spiral-bound notebook in his hands titled _Physics_. Roderich recalls Sigurd talking fondly about him back when they first left the cows. Someone’s a doting older brother.

 _“I’m proud of him. He’s gonna finish his first year of community college next year. He’s shooting for out-of-state once that’s cleared up,”_ Sigurd’s past words echo through Roderich’s mind. 

_“Really? He seems so apathetic.”_

_“Nahh… Baby bro’s just awkward. I’d say we both have the awkward gene.”_

_  
_

Speaking of the awkward gene, Eiríkur seems to tense up as they approach as if expecting something. He holds his notes halfway open between the tips of his fingers, watching Sigurd carefully. His thin lips are pursed, but eventually grow into a slight smirk. “What, did you get lost, Sigurd?” 

Sigurd pauses as that pesky floorboard creaks under his weight. Roderich cringes at the noise. “Yes. A bear chased us,” Sig deadpans. 

“Horrifying. I can tell you’re out of breath,” Eirí returns the sarcasm. 

“My arm… It got decimated. It just happened to grow back,” Sigurd holds up his very noticeably unscratched forearm. 

Roderich watches the exchange in amusement, somewhat appreciating the absurdity. As the brothers talk, he turns to Håvard, who looks up at him expectantly. He doesn’t smile, but Roderich swears he sees it in his eyes. It’s certainly not emotionless, just a little less visibly expressive. So _that’s_ where Sigurd got it from. Ingrid on the other hand is openly cheerful and peppy despite bearing Sigurd’s eyes. 

“I got your battery all set, son! Feel free to test it out later. Dinner should be ready within minutes, though,” Hal says heartily, rocking back into his chair in content. “I already smell it from here!”

“As do I. Thank god I don’t smell fish this time,” Roderich observes quite bluntly. 

“Ah, Ma said something about you not liking fish. It was the first thing you said to her!” He almost laughs. 

Roderich almost glares at Håvard, his cheeks florid with embarrassment. “Don’t remind me.” He ultimately winds down, holding his temple with a sigh. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, flipping back some loose bangs, “Are you familiar with Venmo or any sort of money app? I can pay for my battery through there.”

“Hah, you’re lucky. The kids just taught me about Venmo.” 

As Roderich internally weeps the loss of more of his money, he holds out his phone and searches Hal up on the app. He even tips him a tad in the payment, mostly out of feeling awkward for the whole situation. Interesting, coming from selectively stingy Roderich. 

“-- Don’t call me that!” Eiríkur exclaims and clutches his notes, scoffing. “I’m eighteen and you know that. Can’t you take me more seriously?!” 

Roderich glances over after that sudden outburst, thoroughly confused. Håvard looks a little _too_ used to it. He reclines, resting the back of his head on his hands. “You good, boys?” 

Sigurd peers off to the side and shrugs as if nothing happened. “Whatever you say, lil’ bro.” He makes sure to look directly at Eiríkur as he calls him that. 

"Lil’ Bro" groans in defeat and promptly shuts his physics notes, leaving his chair rolling on its rockers as he makes a beeline straight into the house. Roderich tries to process what just happened. “Did you insult him or is he just sensitive?” 

“He wants to be treated like an adult,” Sigurd slips his hands into his pockets, watching the door gently slam behind Eiríkur. “He’s fine with Eirí, but he thinks he’s too old to be called what he is.” 

“I mean… He can be an adult _and_ your little brother?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Play nice, Sigurd,” Hal calls out. 

* * *

Realizing that he’s going to have to stay an extra night, Roderich accepts his fate and actually joins the rest for a fish-less dinner. The table is full with the family, himself, and a few other guests. Håvard is interestingly quiet throughout the entire meal. Ingrid mostly focuses her energy on making conversation with the other guests, occasionally talking to Roderich. Eiríkur’s mostly over his little tantrum, but from across the table, he occasionally glares at Sigurd. Roderich, meanwhile, mostly finds himself speaking to Sigurd. Sigurd seems to appreciate it, still feeling shy around the other guests. Eiríkur notices too. He doesn’t see his brother open up to guests like this much, even if Sigurd mostly listens to Roderich. His pouts occasionally subside for watching them curiously. Roderich feels him stare and he asks, “Do you have something to say?” 

Eiríkur hesitates before looking down to his food and polishing it off. He takes similarly big bites to Sigurd. Seems the large appetite runs in the family. “Nothing,” he mumbles, scooping his plate up to wash.

The warm chatter eventually dies down and Ingrid offers to take the rest of the plates. Sigurd’s already left to wash his own. He steps back inside just as Roderich hands over his plate to Ingr-- 

“You said something about playing the piano?”

Roderich jolts in his seat as Sigurd speaks up. Curse how quiet he is! He almost dropped his plate! “Don’t do that!” He scolds, Ingrid watching in amusement. 

Sigurd looks visibly confused, his eyebrow raised. With a slow tilt of his head, he asks, “Do what?”

“You’ve practically snuck up on me. I wasn’t ready for that?” 

Ingrid chuckles and leaves the two be. Sigurd scratches the back of his head and awkwardly looks off, his gaze landing on the corner between two walls. “Ahh… My bad. You’re not the only one who’s mentioned that.”

“Then why do you still do it?

“I don’t try to?” 

Roderich’s nostrils flare for a second before he stands up to properly push his chair into the table. “You said something about the piano?”

Sigurd nods, idly twirling that odd long curl at the base of his head. 

“Well, yes. It’s one of the instruments I play, but my favorite,” Roderich wrings his hands. “I just love how-- how _versatile_ it is. You sit down, and you can play what’s on your mind. You can do that with all kinds of instruments, but to me, the piano sounds _reliable_. I felt at a loss when I first moved to this country and didn’t have a place to practice it. Luckily, my apartment has its own now.” 

“You mentioned you’re from Austria, right?”

“Indeed. I’ve lived in Vienna for most of my life. My English was _dreadful_ when I first moved here. I still feel it is,” Roderich scowls at the thought of having to hear himself. As well-spoken as he is now, languages aren’t his forte. He cringes at his own accent, not even realizing Sigurd might find it cute. If he knew that, he’d feel thoroughly embarrassed.

“What brought you to Seattle?” 

Roderich is about to answer his question, but is easily distractible. “Oh! I need to toss my first outfit into the washing machine. I’m simply _not_ driving home in one of my best suits. I’ll let you know later, would you also like me to play for you?”

Sigurd’s simple nod is all Roderich needs to put everything into motion. 

* * *

With Sigurd glancing over his shoulder, Roderich seats himself at the piano. He pauses for a second, but unashamedly sinks into the bench upon hearing no loud creaks. Ah, Roderich. Always checking for weird noises. He presses some of the keys, plays a few scales, and looks at the piano with some relief. “This one’s old. I was worried it’d be out of tune,” he remarks, adjusting his glasses.

“It was recently fixed,” Sigurd reassures. “Dad plays the piano. He couldn’t stand the sound of it playing offkey.” 

“What a wise man.”

Sigurd makes an amused hum as Roderich cracks his fingers. It reminds him of some old Saturday morning cartoons he grew up with. Roderich glances up, initially confused, before shaking it off as nothing.

Roderich’s fingers barely hover over the keys and his eyes flutter shut. His right foot weightlessly sits on one of the pedals. What’s a good piece that comes to mind? 

He plays a soft middle C, holding it down as if to set the mood. He subtly pushes down on the pedal. With that, he slowly re-opens his eyes as he gradually moves his fingers across the keys. That single middle C leads into a medley of gentle chords and fills up the living room with a soothing atmosphere. It’s the perfect music to relax with a cup of tea to. Mentally cutting off his surroundings, Roderich’s eyes dart back and forth between the empty music holder and his fingers. Undoubtedly, he has this memorized. The way he approaches rhythm and how expertly the music echoes through the room clearly comes from a professional. Roderich performs fervently. 

It’s as if the house has gone quiet to listen. Either Roderich drained out the noises from the kitchen, or Ingrid stopped to hear what was playing. To him, it’s just himself and the piano. It’s almost as if he’s under a trance; easily distractible Roderich is pulled into his own world. All that matters is the mesmerizing sound of the piano and getting the piece he chose _just_ right. You can see in each delicate quiver of his fingers over the soft notes, with each careful and quick decision he makes, and hear it in his frankly beautiful rendition of this song. 

The lower notes gently rumble under the prominent, albeit simple melody. Roderich plays at a slower tempo and Sigurd is unable to resist sitting down nearby to close his eyes. With a full meal and lovely music, all Sigurd feels is content. 

Roderich almost leans into the piano as he passionately belts out a crescendo off the keys. Despite the rise in volume, he’s somehow able to keep the sounds accessible and warm. To Sigurd, it sounds _satisfying_. With a grand climax, Roderich settles down and finishes off the song softly. He improvises the end, given that the composition he plays is nearly twelve minutes in its full length. The notes fade out one by one, and all that’s left is the pedal stretching one of them out into quiet obscurity. 

There’s some silence in between. Roderich, looking down at his lap as he settles down. With that, he turns to look at Sigurd, leaning into his hand pressed against the bench. “That was part of _Adagietto_ from Gustav Mahler’s _Symphony No. 5._ It felt right.” Once again, he wrings his hands. “Personally, I could’ve played it better, but--”

Before Sigurd can speak, Ingrid interjects, rapidly clapping her hands from the kitchen doorway with a grin. “Bravo! Bravo! That was excellent, City Boy! Thank you for your humble performance.”

“-- Thank you? However, I-” No one’s letting Roderich criticize himself tonight, are they?

This time, Sigurd’s the one to interject. “No, no… That was really good. Mind playing anything else? Is that rude to ask?”

“I mean… I guess I could, I’ve been feeling estranged from my piano lately. I miss this.” Oh please. You’ve only been gone for a few days.

Roderich goes back to performing, and a couple others gather around to listen. He plays with an air of confidence despite his perfectionist attitude. The evening eventually winds down with him waiting for his small load of clothing in the dryer and a long conversation with Sigurd. Roderich notably dominates the conversation, but Sigurd’s okay with that. He likes to listen. 

* * *

As excited as Roderich is to escape small-town Idaho and drive home, he feels like he’s missing something as he loads his suitcase into his trunk. It’s chilly and the grass looks crisper than he remembers. The sun is barely up. While he’s not much of a morning person, Roderich made it a point to wake up early so he could get the hell out. He slams his car trunk shut, and purses his lips with a “Hmm…” 

He paid for the second night, everything is packed up, his phone is charged, he still has to go to Walgreens, and--

 _Sigurd_. 

That man brought Roderich solace to a place he hates. The whole family, really, but _especially_ Sigurd. 

His footsteps are quick as he speedwalks (well, in his terms) back up the porch and he rapidly knocks the door.

Conveniently, it’s Sigurd who opens the door. Looks like he was just about to head out to do something. “Huh...? Did you forget something, Roderich?” He wonders. 

“I forgot _you._ ” Roderich has to stop, realizing that he sounds like he planned to kidnap him or something. He clears his throat. “-- I mean. Look. I’m not done talking. I think we get along well. Do you have your phone number?” 

Sigurd blinks not once, but twice, gently surprised by Roderich’s forwardness. “Yeah…? Yeah I do,” he fishes for his phone. “... Sure, I’d like to continue talking too.” 

“Please,” Roderich snatches his phone straight out of his hands and quickly dials in his contact information. He sends himself a text. “Anyway, that’s done and over with,” he returns the device as if nothing happened. “Shall we carry on our conversation soon?”

“... Didn’t we leave off at discussing which kinds of chickens are rude?” 

“Something along those lines. Say, I’ll let you know when I’m home. How is that?” 

There’s a faint trace of a smile on Sigurd’s lips. It’s thin and a little crooked. There’s something charming about it, and Roderich’s chest feels tight for a second. “It’s a deal. Have a safe trip… Got it?” Sigurd asks. 

“Obviously!”

Sigurd’s smile is sealed in the back of Roderich’s head as he runs those last-minute errands and rolls back onto the highway with the help of his GPS app. He assumes this will pass and isn’t even sure how long they’ll even talk long-distance. 

Roderich has no idea what’s to occur between them in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was This tempted to end here, but we're roughly 1/3 through the fic! A little less, but this is just the end of the first arc, haha.


	6. A New Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little account from Sigurd's POV

  


Sigurd sits alone on the porch, observing Roderich carefully pull out of the long driveway. The gravel crunches underneath his tires, a cloud of dust puffing out behind him. Just like that, he’s gone. It’s only been two days, but Sig almost feels like he’s overlooking an old friend’s departure. 

He hums to himself quietly, looking down at his phone that he holds lazily in his lap. “Hmm…” He ponders, curious whether he’ll actually hear back from Roderich by the evening. The drive to Seattle is six hours, if he recalls. Little does he know that you add about an extra hour to Roderich’s driving speed, not even counting the pit stops. 

It’s not the only time Sigurd’s dealt with some very distinct guests, but something about Roderich stands out to him even more. There’s strong personalities, and then there’s strong personalities willing to open up to you. Even if Roderich isn’t afraid to say what’s on his mind, even to rude extents, there’s something admirable in that. He’s not afraid to speak for himself, he’s fully engaged in their conversations, and doesn’t seem to mind Sigurd’s own weirdness. Sigurd swears he has to be a fellow eccentric. If that’s the case-- it’s comforting to him.

… There’s also the fact that Roderich’s admittedly pretty attractive and has a soft-spoken voice with a cute accent to boot. _Him?_ Interested in speaking to _Sigurd?_

“I guess your friend’s gone,” his younger brother’s voice calls out from behind him. 

“Mm...? Yeah…” Sigurd looks behind his shoulder to see Eiríkur, whose hands are on his hips as a black backpack loosely starts slipping off his shoulders. He’s about to drive thirty minutes away to the closest _bigger_ town for his classes. 

“You know,” Eiríkur starts, gradually walking down the porch stairs, “I rarely even _see_ you talking to guests unless it’s answering questions or something. What’s happening between you two? You’re not one for strangers.” Which is ironic, considering Sigurd’s job almost requires interacting with strangers. 

“Think I’ve just found a friend,” Sigurd shrugs, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He leads his vacant-looking gaze back toward where Roderich used to be. It almost seems longing. 

“I didn’t know you could crush that quickly, Sigurd.” 

“-- What?” Sigurd slowly shakes his head. “Nah… That’s too soon. He was only here for two nights.” 

“Whatever you want to say, I guess,” Eiríkur shrugs, pointing his key toward his car to unlock it with the quick click of a button. He stops for a second, just to say, “... Or you want to go back to school? See Magnus in Seattle?” 

Sigurd stirs in his spot. “It’s not about school. He’s…- Roderich seems neat.” But there’s a look in his eyes as Eiríkur mentions “Magnus.” Speaking of Magnus, he should send him a text soon. Magnus usually texts first _and_ quick, but he hasn’t in a while... “You know I can’t go back, Eirí,” Sigurd frowns.

“Hm... Whatever you say. I’m gonna be late if I stand around here. Hey… Tell Magnus I say “hi” next time you call or text him?” Eiríkur requests, almost sounding hopeful. 

“Whatever you want, baby bro.” 

“Shut up!”

* * *

Sigurd squints as he holds a pair of tongs over the family bearded dragon. His utensils pinch a live cricket, which tries squirming around in his grip. He feels slightly bad, but it’s always fascinating to watch Viola eat. 

_Snap!_

Viola lunges forward at the bug and darts out her tongue, now happily munching at her crunchy cricket meal. Sigurd’s already fed her enough bugs for the time being, so he scoops her up in his hands for her to rest on his shoulder. Sometimes he enjoys having Viola around while he works through the house, letting her relax by the window or play. Of course, he’s careful and makes sure she returns to her tank in a timely manner for some time under the heat lamp. 

Viola, otherwise affectionately known as Vivi, closes her eyes in content and happily rests on Sigurd’s shoulder. 

After recruiting his little travel companion, Sigurd heads upstairs to check on any guest rooms he needs to maintain. Ah right… He needs to start a laundry load for Roderich’s bed sheets. 

He’s never checked on Roderich at his room, so he isn’t sure what to expect. Knocking on his door out of habit, the door swings open on its own-- it wasn’t shut all the way. It looks like there’s nothing extra he needs to pick up and fortunately, no rocks have been stolen this time. All he has to worry about are some wrinkled bed sheets that need to be washed for the next guest. Ah… Were there any new guests coming in today? He can’t remember. Without a complaint, Sigurd scoops up the sheets and carefully makes his way back down the stairs. Vivi now perches on his head, having been moved there earlier so it was easier for Sig to gather the pillowcases and blankets. 

All the room needs is a little extra tidying afterward, and it’s set for the next guest.

* * *

Outside of Roderich leaving, Sigurd considers today pretty mundane. Viola now rests in her tank as he finishes a set of outdoor chores, such as checking on the cows whom he let out from their pen earlier, repainting part of the house, helping his dad out with any other tasks-- 

As happy as he is to help his folks, Sigurd realizes there’s something missing in his life. Roderich helped him see it. He doesn’t know what to do, though.

* * *

Throughout the day, Sigurd checks his phone for any signs from Roderich. He texts Magnus a simple “you doing good?”, but fails to hear from him for a while. It’s strange… Did something happen? By night, Sigurd lies in his bed and stares quietly at his phone. He’s usually bad at checking it, but there’s not one, but _two_ people he hopes to hear back from. 

Sigurd’s bedroom on the other hand is very nicely organized, items lined on his shelves with a caring eye. His bedroom, painted a soothing periwinkle, is notably lined with some extra shelves and two sets of drawers: one for his clothes, and a smaller set for his nic nacs. 

We can’t forget that old, but well-taken-care-of pink bunny doll slightly slanted against the corner of one of his shelves. Ah yes… Kasper. He’s had him since he was a child. Kasper accompanies a collection of books and a jewel box of old keys. 

Bottle caps, buttons, old coins… Sigurd collects them all. It all started when he was little and his mother, Ingrid, drove him over to the local antique shop downtown. The rusty red wagon displayed outside caught his eye. It seemed well-taken care of despite the rust from recent rain, but never had he seen a model like that before. Its font, the certain shade of red, and even down to the different kind of handle and wheels, all felt distinct. The kind store owner told him that the wagon was from 1967. It absolutely blew his mind that the wagon was older than him! As he explored the store, which smelled like a thin coat of dust and old books, he would pick up old artifacts that caught his eye and asked the owner for stories. He loved, and still does love that all items have their own stories to tell. They might not be as crazy as the folk tales Håvard told him and his brother every night, but they’re still _stories_. 

But in tiny, middle-of-nowhere Mullan, Idaho, there’s very little chance he can explore another side of himself. 

As soon as he rolls onto his side to plug his phone and settle into bed, a notification pops up across his lock screen. 

**_Roderich:_ ** _Just got home. Two trucks honked at me today! How rude._

Looks like Sigurd’s not going to sleep yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Human Names Used
> 
> Magnus Pedersen - Denmark
> 
> That's right folks! He'll appear in the story too.


	7. A Long Distance Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations from beyond the accidental visit

**_Roderich:_ ** _Just got home. Two trucks honked at me today! How rude._

Sigurd pauses, still on his side before he checks the hour from the corner of his eye. Oh, he’s got time. It’s not like this is the latest he’s ever gone to bed. If anything, he has a natural talent of being up at odd times, sending the occasional cryptic post at the low hours of 2 and 3 am. With his role at the B&B, he _tries_ to maintain a routine, but it’s not his fault when his brain is up and wired. He rolls over to sit up, propping the pillows behind his back before he curls up his knees and gets texting. 

**_Sigurd:_ ** _are you still in one piece?_

 ** _Roderich:_** _Fortunately, but I swear that one of those horns were cranked up if that’s even possible! My ear felt like it broke on impact. You’d think being inside my car would at least provide some sort of solace._

 _Sounds like Roderich alright_ , thinks Sigurd. It’s only been two days, but you have to hear him complain at least once. He also notes he’s rather talkative, even in text. Roderich strikes him, however, as _selectively_ talkative. Sigurd can relate to an extent, but he’s usually just plain quiet and a natural listener.

If he’s right about Roderich, then that’s certainly flattering. 

**_Sigurd:_** _ah, i hate that. what matters though is that you’re safe. you can give those sharp ears of yours a little tlc_

 **_Roderich:_ ** _Tell me about it. I’m listening to one of my calmer playlists as we speak!_

 ** _Sigurd:_** _👀_

 **_Roderich:_ ** _So is that a, “Yes, give me your Spotify, Roderich?”_

 **_Sigurd:_ ** _oh, my… i wonder how you could tell_

A long link awaits Sigurd in the form of a friendly-looking blue iMessage bubble, and he clicks. His phone jumps to Spotify and a myriad of playlists awaits him to work to. Myriad’s almost an understatement-- it’s blatantly obvious Roderich pays for Premium if he listens to this much! It’s kind of endearing. If Sigurd recalls, the only reason he ever even met him was because he was trying to see an orchestra concert and drove a completely different direction. Judging by his other encounters, Rod must be a classical music buff. 

Sigurd scrolls down and drowns in all kinds of genres. For a potential music elitist, Roderich sure listens to a lot of genr- 

_Guilty Pleasures._

Sigurd is a simple man. He sees a title like that? He clicks. 

Outside of apparently enjoying Mahler, Strauss, Mozart (of course) and the works, our man Roderich here likes to dabble in some Britney Spears, Gwen Stefani, Doja Cat, Megan Thee Stallion and Cardi B? 

There also seems to be distinct playlists for genres such as 90s Hip Hop. Good on him. Other genres he notices include jazz, musical theater, obscure genres he hasn’t even heard of-- How much time did Roderich spend curating music on here? But naturally, Sigurd’s going straight for the throat. 

**_Sigurd:_ ** _i feel enriched by your taste in music. i’m looking forward._

 **_Roderich:_ ** _Well, I do pride myself in my taste._

 **_Sigurd:_ ** _i’m listening to rich girl by gwen stefani as we speak. thanks._

 **_Roderich:_ ** _[Roderich is typing….]_

* * *

Roderich stares blankly at his screen, struggling with figuring out a response. Immediately, he closes out his texts in favor of checking on his countless playlists’ visibility settings. 

_Not Sigurd potentially noticing that he has WAP saved on Spotify._

Roderich rolls his eyes and quickly privates the _Guilty Pleasures_ playlist. He has an image to maintain! At the same time, however, there’s a bit of humor in this. Not like it’s the end of the world for him.

 **_Roderich:_ ** _No one would ever believe you, would they?_

* * *

Texts between Sigurd and Roderich vary throughout the week, but it becomes nearly a daily ritual, even if only for a few minutes. Days become weeks, and those weeks become months. 

Sigurd sits at his desk, clad in a thick, grey sweater. It’s December 1st, and thick snowflakes gently rain down outside his window. Ah, it’s been since… September? Not too long, but Sigurd’s too occupied with propping up his phone to dwell on that. In his camera app, Sigurd stares at himself, carefully combing away at loose bangs with his fingers. With that, he purses his lips and shrugs. He’s never thought himself as particularly remarkable-looking. While he’s quite attractive, Sigurd himself has never really cared to notice. Compliment him, and he’ll grow awkward and bashful. 

He ponders how Roderich even _sees_ him as a person. How is Roderich even real? Such a cultured, unique, and overall strangely _fun_ guy _still_ talking to Sigurd? He glances down at his empty palms and checks the time-- two minutes until Roderich claimed he would be ready. Although, knowing Roderich… Give him an extra ten minutes after that. Ultimately, what matters to Sigurd is that he even has a chance to talk to him. 

Those long text conversations have slowly evolved into frequent FaceTiming sessions, and while Sigurd’s camera shy, he’s just happy to hear from him. He’s unable to explain the bundle of nerves in his chest before each call, but he assumes it’s just from instinct. Sigurd has to be in a certain mood to want to call, but there’s some people who can break past that. One of them is Roderich. 

All of a sudden, his phone vibrates in its spot and Sigurd has to reach over and hold it down as he answers. Looks like Roderich, for once, is on time today. 

Roderich sits in the middle of his apartment, flanked by a large window overlooking parts of the vast Seattle skyline. Tall buildings stand behind the window, faintly obscured by light snow. There’s what appears to be a diploma along with some sheet music hung on the wall above a (frankly ugly) striped sofa. He also swears that there’s a shirt loosely draped over it. Next to a noticeably dying snake plant is his polished black piano, looking immaculate as ever. 

Roderich never called from his bedroom like Sigurd did. The perks of living alone, he supposes? However, all it really does is have Sigurd wonder what it’s like there… Maybe, one day, Roderich can take him around the city? His sense of direction can at least do that, right? No.

“Snowing on your end too?” Sigurd asks. 

“For once, you’re the one who talks first? You’re growing _awfully_ bold, dear Sigurd,” Roderich teases. “I mean, it’s about the weather but I suppose it’s a start.” Ah, yes. Rod and his slightly mean sense of humor. 

Sigurd nonchalantly sticks out his tongue. It’s an interesting sight with that default bored expression. He almost doesn’t even _realize_ how straight-faced he looks to people. People have pointed that out before, hell, _especially_ Roderich, but Sigurd’s found himself surprised every time. Sigurd emotes just like anyone else-- just at a less visible extent. 

Roderich continues. “But what matters to me is that you’re feeling comfortable. Now, catch me up on how things have been?”

Sigurd shrugs, almost embarrassed by the lack of updates from home. “Not much. Buttercup’s due in the spring I’m sure. That’s all I really know. But… I’m thinking about driving down?”

“Wait- Really? Won’t you be busy?” 

“I was thinking,” Sigurd starts, “Would you happen to be busy in December?” 

“Well, I _do_ have a Christmas concert coming up on the 14th, are you asking for a place to stay or something? I mean, I-” 

Sigurd shakes his head. “Nah, already made some arrangements. I know someone else in the area.” 

“Really? You never told me about that.” 

“Ah… His name is Magnus.” 

“That sounds familiar?” 

“Really?” 

Roderich scratches his chin. “The barista who normally serves my coffee is named Magnus? I must say, he’s like your opposite. His hair’s weird. I don’t know _how_ he maintains it but something tells me he uses 2 in 1 shampoo and I’m not okay with--”

“That’s him.”

“Are you serious?” Roderich leans forward, scooting over in his chair. The chair noticeably doesn’t make any noise. It’s clear Roderich picked it up with him to avoid any _stabby_ sounds. “At The Crispy Bean?” Note that Roderich refuses to go to Starbucks despite living in Seattle. “What is he, _also_ from Mullan?” 

“You could say he’s the childhood friend of this story.”

“This story?”

“Oh, you know…” Sigurd trails off. “He’s in Seattle for school right now. He’s gonna be a preschool teacher once he’s certified.”

“He seems like the kind who could handle that. Personally, I hate kids,” Roderich states matter-of-factly. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised with that either.”

“Oh, back at it again with your witch stuff, hm?” 

“You know only mom practices,” Sigurd stretches in his seat. “Anyways… If I drive in, is there a chance I can catch your concert? I’ll be in town for a few days.” 

Roderich subtly perks up in his seat, looking at him with an almost pleading “Would you?”

Sigurd nods. 

“Ugh, know you’re such a dear. Let me know if you need a back-up place to stay. My apartment is small, but you’re at least welcome to visit for coffee. Perhaps we could walk around downtown? I guess your friend is invited, but I must admit I wouldn’t mind one-on-one time with you soon.”

Something about that last phrase has Sigurd feel a tightness in his chest. “-- Same. Magnus… Magnus is loud...” 

“Oh believe me, I can tell when he shouts out my order.” Some mewls can be heard from Roderich’s end of the call. Sigurd immediately knows who it’s from. 

“Strudel wants one on one time too, I’m sure,” Sigurd quietly jokes as Roderich scoops up his cat. 

Strudel, a light pink sphinx cat and clad in a lavender sweater, looks around with wide green eyes until settling on staring at Sigurd. He tries to lean over to sniff, and Roderich pulls him back before he has a chance at knocking over anything. 

Kissing the top of his head right before Strudel yawns, Roderich smiles a little, which causes Sig’s stomach to flutter. It’s hard to tell with Sigurd, but he really does treasure his smiles. Roderich doesn’t do that very often, he notices. 

“You’ll get to meet this babe, won’t you?” Roderich says, holding up his cat-- his pride, his joy. 

“Yup. You said he tries to open the door for guests, right?”

“Oh yes. He’s a _very_ smart cat. He just lacks thumbs.” 

* * *

The conversation eventually winds down after a good while, and Sigurd’s eventually left on his bed and staring up at the ceiling vacantly. He hasn’t felt this sort of spark in talking with anyone else in a while… Possibly not since _he_ was in school. What is it about Roderich? Even a silly conversation about “what kind of pizza topping are you” has a delicious, exciting zing to it. 

Sigurd sighs and rolls to his side, staring at his reflection in his phone’s blank screen.

Does he have a crush? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon the lack of an update last week! Last Tuesday was a lot and I've been hit by a lack of motivation, but we're back!


	8. The Barista and Sigurd's Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 back in the big city! We also meet Magnus!

It’s December 13th and Roderich, a day shy of his concert, means business. His strides down the busy downtown sidewalk are slow, but pointed. He may not be the most nimble, but he sure as hell means business. After some instances of avoiding ice, side-stepping inattentive pedestrians, and nearly getting lost, he stares down a bright yellow sign. 

_The Crispy Bean_

A man surely can’t function without his coffee. That has to be Roderich’s mantra, especially as he needs to meet with several others today and-- 

Taking a deep breath, Roderich promptly steps inside, the little bells jingling against the door as he swings it open. 

Immediately, the strong aroma of coffee hits his nostrils. With his sharp sense of smell, he can tell it’s crafted by a careful hand. Starbucks on the other hand… Oh, we _don’t_ talk about Starbucks. Anyway, the walls, either brick or painted with warm, welcoming colors entices him to walk further inside. Pieces by local artists hang on display, each style distinct and representing a diverse community behind each mark. Roderich likens The Crispy Bean to a unique paint stroke. Just like the art it houses, there’s absolutely nothing commercial about it. Equipped with a devout fan base of caffeine-addicted locals, The Crispy Bean welcomes everyone inside. There’s something about The Crispy Bean’s coffee that really makes his morning. 

There’s not just something about the coffee, there’s _someone_. 

“ **RODDY**! You’re back!” An excitable voice booms across the shop, even causing some customers to glance up. 

Roderich first sees a familiar goofy grin from the barista. With spiky hair fried from too much bleach and 2-in-1, a pair of sky blue eyes ripe with life, and freckles strewn across his cheeks, the employee beams as if it wasn’t 7 AM. Roderich is not a morning person and wonders how he’s able to keep up the energy. To boot, he towers over Rod and has a set of muscular arms that might as well belong to a firefighter. He surely must give nice hugs. Overall, he’s a well-built guy who towers over most of his coworkers. Roderich isn’t sure whether he notices that or his perfect teeth first. 

  


“No! Just Roderich,” Roderich holds his scarf over his mouth defensively, although-- it’s almost playful. He sighs weakly, straightening up. “Lively as ever, Magnus.” 

“Yeah! The snow cleared up and it ain’t raining! Finally got some extra sun. It helped me wake up! Are you going to rehearsal?” Magnus eagerly leans into the counter. There’s no line right now, so he’s not in a hurry. “Say! What’s it like being a maestro _and_ a professor?! I bet it’s really cool! And you’re pretty young to have that role! Well it looks like it.” 

Roderich’s expression looks worn-- amused, but worn. “The violins keep tripping up on a certain part and it drives me nuts. Personally, _I_ don’t understand what’s difficult about that part, but-”

“Cool!! I’m sure they’ll get it down soon!” Magnus never paced conversations too well. He doesn’t _mean_ to be rude when he talks over people, but it remains a bad habit. “You’ve got one _whole_ day! I heard rehearsals can be long, so there’s still time!” 

As Magnus rambles on, something hits Roderich like a sharp meteorite: _Sigurd_. It’s been weeks and Roderich never remembered to bring it up! He isn’t sure how, he’s been thinking about him lately. It’s almost like his insides are in knots. 

“-- See?! You can do it. I’ve got faith in you, Rod,” Magnus slams the counter a little too loudly, causing Roderich to jolt in place. 

“Don’t do that!”

“Do what?” 

“Ugh… Nevermind. I just realized something,” Roderich glances behind his shoulder. Still no line. Strange for this time of day, but oddly convenient. “I think this world’s smaller than it seems.” 

“Oh? What are you talking about?” Magnus asks, looking at him attentively with large eyes. 

“I have a friend named Sigurd,” Roderich wrings his hands as he fumbles for words. “He’s from Idaho. One day, we called and it sounds like we both know a Magnus who works at The Crispy Bean,” he eyes him, about to add something. All he can do is trail off as he watches him react.

There’s a look of hopefulness and excitement in the barista’s gaze. Eyes wide with glee, Roderich swears he’s staring at a puppy more than anything else. “You know Siggy…?” Magnus whispers excitedly. “ _The_ Siggy? Sig? Sigurd? Well there’s not many Sigurds around here but-- _him_!? The Sigurd from _Mullan_ , right? Was that who you meant when you said that you got lost i-” 

“ _Yes_.” Roderich wonders how that sweet country boy is doing. 

There’s a pause before Magnus clasps his hands and smiles even larger than before. “I miss him so much! That’s so cool you know him too! I can’t believe he’s coming tonight! Is he going to your concert-- wait, can _I_ go too?!” 

“If you know how to speak in an inside voice, I don’t see why not,” Roderich checks his nails. “It’ll be at the main concert hall at Washington Eve University. 6 PM sharp tomorrow.” 

“You got it! I actually go there! Plus, I’m sure Siggy would remind me if I forgot anyway!” The bells jingle back at the front and Magnus snaps back into work mode, “-- Anyway! The usual?” 

“Can I have some extra chocolate sprinkles?” 

“Aye aye, captain!!” 

Another thing Roderich appreciates from Magnus and The Crispy Bean: they’re able to replicate coffee from home. Well, close enough that he still likes it. Nothing beats a good Franziskaner or Kapuziner from Vienna, but what matters here are the talented baristas who know how to carefully handle the ingredients. For someone as rowdy as Magnus, he pays extra attention to the details in Roderich’s coffee. 

An espresso laced with a punch of caffeine, some milk, heavy whipped cream, some chocolate-- and enough sugar. Roderich is bound to get the kick he needs this morning with this kind of drink. As soon as Magnus yells out his name for his order, he’s quick to grab the drink and heads toward the door. 

But before Magnus can move onto the next customer, Roderich gives him a look. “Will I see you tomorrow evening?” 

“Count on it!” Magnus salutes. 

* * *

Traffic, traffic, and traffic. That’s one thing Sigurd never liked about the city. The worst Mullan ever has is slower roads from the weather or a blinking traffic light in the middle of downtown. He sees the vast Seattle skyline stretch across the distance in stripes of greyish blue. The sky is as dim and cloudy as he remembers it. All Sigurd brings is a few outfits, enough money, some necessities, and himself. Unlike Roderich, Sigurd packs lightly for practicality. With one hand relaxed on the steering wheel and a straight face, he calmly navigates the traffic and takes the nearest exit. Magnus says he doesn’t move out until his lease ends at the end of summer, so Sigurd remembers where to go. Unlike Roderich, he drives with a clear head and promptly follows the directions. In fact, he has them memorized. There’s the occasional crazy city driver that meanders across the lanes, but it’s nothing Sigurd can’t handle. The trip slows down once he’s off the highway, blocked by slower speed limits, construction, and of course, traffic lights. After passing a few neighborhoods, however, Sigurd pulls up in front of a small brick apartment building where Magnus awaits in the parking lot. 

As he backs in, Magnus is already waving and leaping over patches of ice to meet him by the driver’s seat. Sigurd rolls down his window, the cold breeze brushing aside his hair and says, “-- Don’t do that. Wanna slip and bust open your head?” 

“But _Siggy--_ it’s been months! With me being so busy I haven’t been able to text you as much and I-” 

Sigurd holds up a finger for him to clam up so he can park his car and stop the engine. As soon as he finishes, he sighs. “... And is it worth your own safety, bro?” 

Magnus stares a little longer but shakes his head in defeat. He shamelessly throws open one of the back doors as soon as Sigurd unlocks his car, yanking out his stuff. “But you still owe me a hug!” He claims defiantly. 

“Not even giving me a chance to get out of my car.” Sigurd appreciates Magnus, he _really_ does, but it’s true that his friend here has a talent at getting on his nerves. What can he say, though? They’ve gone through _everything_ together. 

It’s also true that Sigurd is saddened by how they’re normally separated these days. 

As soon as he steps out of his car, rolls up his window, locks it, and stretches his long legs, Sigurd looks up, only to be immediately enveloped in a warm, tight embrace from Magnus. He tenses awkwardly. 

“A mandatory hug for my best buddy!” Magnus announces to no one in particular, concluding the bear hug with a rough pat on the back. Sigurd coughs from the force, but hugs back anyway. 

Dusting himself off, Sigurd soon crosses his arms. “... I missed that,” he admits. “Can’t believe _I’m_ the one who reminds you to text back now... Remembering when I’d get ten missed calls from you because-” 

Magnus smiles sort of sadly. “It’s the school stuff, the job stuff! I swear, I wanna smuggle you back over here so you can finish, you know?” He pats Sigurd’s back, guiding him inside. “We were supposed to go to school together, right?”

There’s a tiny frown across Sigurd’s features and he trails off. “I know… And you know.” 

“I guess-” Magnus is quick to change the subject. “Let’s talk about that later. Anyways! Mi casa es su casa! I think I said that right.” Note: his Spanish has a rough accent, but it’s a common enough phrase for Sigurd to understand. 

“Spanish classes occupying you?”

“Yeah! There’s a lot of kids who only know Spanish, so I figured it’d be a good third language! If I wanna be the world's greatest preschool teacher, I wanna be able to understand my students!” Magnus is only fluent in Danish and English. For now. 

“True. That’s a good use for it,” Sigurd takes a second to glance over the familiar lobby. It’s a run-down and old building, but everything is in its place. All of the mailboxes lined up against the wall, the obligatory abandoned mystery package against the wall, the fake plants--

It’s just like when _he_ used to live here. 

“Berwald’s not here right now,” Magnus starts. Ah, right. Berwald-- his _new_ roommate. The way Magnus describes him is quite amusing. Even taller and silent as an owl. Accidentally intimidating. A nerd. What’s with Magnus and always ending up with the polar opposites? “-- But that’s ok! You’ll meet him later!” 

“Fair, I need time to settle. You know how I am with strangers.” 

“ _Right-_ right!” As they march up to the third floor, Sigurd zones out and imagines the care packages from home and how utterly extra and heavy they were. Nothing he couldn’t carry, but it certainly made for a nice workout. Not like there was an elevator. 

Magnus jams the key into apartment 304 and swings open the door, and Sigurd can _immediately_ tell where he and Berwald stow their things and hang out. There’s a slight lack of furniture, something unsurprising for an apartment for students. The best way Sigurd can describe Magnus’s whereabouts are: wherever there’s a ton of papers, or if something is haphazardly organized. Magnus stretches his arms in triumph. “Welcome back, Siggy! You’re free to crash on the couch! Or, like, when we were kids, remember how we’d share a bed sometimes? That’d be f-”

“I’m fine with the couch.” 

“Awwww!” Magnus’s expression falls comedically, “Fine, fine! Don’t be a party pooper!” 

“You know we’re not 4 foot something anymore.” 

“Fair, but! I updated to a full-sized bed. I bet we could squish together if we try hard enough?”

Sigurd raises an eyebrow as he slips off his shoes by the door, silently wandering over to the couch to lie down. He has a strange urge to bury his face in the corner of his seat with a pillow and zone out. A typical Sigurd affair: the occasional lizard-brain impulse. Instead, he rests his back on the sofa like a normal person and stares at the bumps in the popcorn ceiling. Each splatter starts to remind him of seeing mountain ranges from a plane… 

Magnus chuckles and bends Sigurd’s legs so he has room to sit. “Tired, I’m guessing?”

“I just drove six hours. The things I do to take you back home for winter break.” 

“That’s valid but guess what?!” 

Sigurd lazily cranes his neck up to Magnus with a sleepy “Hmm…?” with half-lidded eyes.

“Roderich! So a friend of yours turned out to be one of my favorite customers! He’s so particular and he’s just his own thing. At first I thought he didn’t like me, but he said he knows you and that I’m invited to his concert!” Magnus digs out his phone and points to his calendar app. “See I’ve got it in my reminders! We’re all set, buddy! 6 PM sharp tomorrow! Do you think these sorta things have dress codes?” 

“... I dunno, but I brought a nicer outfit for it.” _Roderich_. Once he hears his name, Sigurd almost visibly perks up. Magnus notices and grins.

“You two would strangely be nice together?”

“-- Together?” Sigurd raises an eyebrow.

“As buddies!” Magnus finishes. “I mean I can see you guys getting along. Wait- do _you_ , Sigurd Aksel Thomassen, have a crush?! Ohoho _ho_?” Time for him to obnoxiously lean in. They almost touch noses.

  


Sigurd gives him the blankest stare he can muster, pushing his face away.

“So yes?” Asks Magnus, muffled by Sigurd’s palm.

Sigurd pauses, stirs in his spot a little, and eventually sits up to cross his legs because sitting properly for bisexuals is impossible. He retreats his hand to rest it on his own chin. “... Kinda? I dunno… I don’t think anything’s gonna happen. Don’t say shit.” 

Magnus’s thick black eyebrows furrow as he smirks sneakily. “Well if you want, _I_ can be your wingman,” he leans over to nudge Sigurd with his elbow, who elbows back a little too hard by mistake. “Or not! Or not. But I dunno, I can see if he’s single or something? I’ve never seen him bring over a partner. He sets off my _not-straightdar_ , that’s for sure.” He holds his hands up. “Your secret’s safe with me!”

Sigurd doesn’t mutter an apology, but somewhat feels bad. “Ah, no… You don’t have to. Doubt he’d be into me.”

“Why? You’ve got the personality _and_ you’re hot, bro!”

“Oh shut up.” 

“But--!”

“... Thanks anyways,” Sigurd gently winks, though it’s clear by the look of his flushed pale cheeks that he’s growing bashful.

“Aww, it’s like you’re asking for another hug!!”

“Save it.” 

* * *

Magnus is out watching TV in the front, but Sigurd decides to retreat to bed early after some hours of catching up. Magnus somehow convinced him to share a bed in the end, so Sigurd cherishes his privacy while he can. But for an extrovert, Magnus energizes him instead of drains him. He supposes that’s the effect of being around him for so damn long. He casts his gaze toward Magnus’s messy room, his clothes piles shoved mercilessly into his poor closet and the occasional exam study guide from the end of this semester resting on the carpet. And that’s when his phone glows up. He’s about to close his eyes, but he’s unable to resist checking who it could be.

  


**_Roderich:_ ** _Have you arrived safely?_

Sigurd’s almost embarrassed with himself at this point. All he can think about right now is possibly getting the chance to hold his hand, maybe give him a hug, kiss his ch- It’s only been a few months. He swears these feelings fluttered in embarrassingly fast and--

 **_Sigurd:_ ** _yup. see your concert at 6 pm?_

 **_Roderich:_ ** _Precisely! Are you staying at Magnus’s the whole time? You’re free to stay for one night._

His heart skips a beat. Sure, he’s Magnus’s ride back to Mullan, but-- fuck it. He’s here for a few days. Judging by that earlier talk, it’s not like Magnus would mind. In fact, he’d encourage it. 

**_Sigurd:_ ** _i’ll have to let him know, but i want to?_

Sigurd and Roderich text away for a good 20 minutes making some plans. Sounds like the day after his concert will be his time with Roderich, and the night after his concert is when he stays. 

He’s eventually left to his wandering thoughts, from pondering about if flies had human limbs, and of course, contemplating what it would be like to have a date with Roderich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to figure out their ages! I'd say Roderich was a bit of a prodigy in his field and he's in his mid-late 20s, and Magnus and Sigurd are in their early 20s. Sigurd's either 22 or 23. Meanwhile, Eiríkur is at a ripe 18. 
> 
> Just a small note to set things up. 
> 
> Second note: lord help me I have No idea what I'm doing when it comes to figuring out cool Austrian coffee stuff but Roderich is such a snob about his cup of joe, ugh.


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